


Missing Scene: Their Choice

by syredronning



Series: D/s AU [2]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-08
Updated: 2010-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 14:39:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syredronning/pseuds/syredronning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pike takes Kirk home for the night, because it feels like the right thing to do.<br/>Rather loose series tie-in, can be read alone if you ignore the first paragraphs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missing Scene: Their Choice

**Author's Note:**

> This is a missing scene snippet from [The People We Are, The Choices We Make](http://syredronning.livejournal.com/1163575.html), an AU story in which Dominance/submission relationships are standard; Pike and Kirk both belong to the minority of switches. You can probably read it as standalone if you skip the first paragraphs. This is basically a story amnesty posting before it gets lost on my hard drive.

Title: Missing Scene: Their Choice  
Author: aka Acidqueen  
Series: AOS (AU)  
The wedding between Leonard McCoy and Sarek is everything Pike hates about the current state of society, but he's only a guest and hiding in the corner, and damn ready to get away as soon as possible. He doesn't expect this evening to turn into anything but a drink-fest at home (although his doctors keep harping at him for mixing drugs and ethanol, but it gives him an interesting buzz… and kills the nightmares he tends to have).

Suddenly Jim Kirk's next to him, visibly tense, annoyed and bitching. Possibly jealous too, losing his best friend to a marriage that made Earth customs look like a walk in the park.

"I think I'll go home. Want to come with me?" Pike says casually.

"That's an invitation for the night? Not sure we'd be on the same wavelength." Pike can see Kirk's astonishment about his invitation.

"If fucking my ass is active enough for your taste, Kirk, then it's an invitation," Pike replies, surprising himself. It's not as if he hadn't spared a stray thought on Kirk – and his ass – in the past, but they'd been teacher and student, mentor and protégé, and that had placed Kirk firmly off-limits.

Now that the young man has become captain, Pike doesn't think about excuses anymore. He's got only one life to live, he'd been reminded the hard way, and he'd rather spend it enjoying himself as much as possible, instead of letting perfect opportunities pass by in fear of possible future complications.

"Now that sounds good," Kirk replies, and while he doesn't sound exactly eager, his interest is genuine.

They leave the reception together.

*

When Pike wakes up on the next morning, the apartment is silent, as silent as only an empty apartment can be. He's a little disappointed but not really surprised. Kirk isn't the kind of guy to stay for breakfast. He's sweaty and stinks and decides to drag himself into the bathroom. Like every morning, he ignores the crutches and tries to move on his own two legs. He's got to prove himself that he's still man enough to make it those few steps into the bathroom.

He manages nine and almost throws himself onto the toilet seat. Moving from there into the shower is another exhausting three steps, but there's a seat he can sink down on.

He hates it, this weakness.

He runs the shower rather cool, taking his time with cleaning off every trace of the night before. It's been good, but it is over. He doesn't need Kirk's smell lingering on his body and he drinks from the shower to get rid of his taste. Not that it really works.

He barely makes it back to the bed where the crutches are, and uses them as support to reach the small room he'd turned into his personal muscle training center. He starts with his arms like every morning then moves lower. It hurts more than it should.

Suddenly, there's a smell of coffee in the air. He lets his legs sink down under the weights with a small groan just as Kirk's poking his head into the open door. He'd changed into jeans and a white shirt, and Pike stares at him as if he's a ghost.

"You're back."

"Told you so when I left," Kirk replies.

"Didn't hear it," he says. In the past, Pike had rarely slept more than four hours a night and woken up from the smallest sound. Captaincy did that to people. Today, the damn drugs he takes turn his sleep into seven hours of stupor.

"I'm just too damn good," Kirk says with a smirk and then eyes the apparatus. "Doctor's orders?"

"Actually, no. They all warned me that it's too early for my legs." Pike shrugs. "I think it can't be early enough."

Kirk nods. "Well - breakfast's ready whenever you are."

"I'll be there in a minute," Pike replies.

*

It's actually more like ten until he makes it to the breakfast table, because he wants to get his bathrobe from the bedroom first and his legs give in on the way. He's glad Kirk doesn't see how he falls on his bed, his legs dangling like severed limbs, and leans over for the painkiller they'd given him for self-medication. He presses the hypo against his neck, his jaw setting over the stabbing pain. A second later, relaxation sets in. It's really a potent stuff.

Kirk's sitting on the table, one naked foot propped up on the chair next to him. He's reading a book, a cup of coffee close to his right hand on the table.

Pike looks at the breakfast table; nobody's set one up for him in ages, and he's touched, really, at seeing the cups, dishes, jars of jam, sausage, cheese lying next to a basket with bagels and croissants. As he sits down, he grabs the empty paper bag.

"Dumont's," he reads and whistles. The best damn delicatessen shop in San Francisco, and more than five miles away. "That's why it took you so long."

Kirk puts the book away and pours him a cup of coffee. "I went back to my room to change and then phoned a friend for a lift." He moves the basket over to Pike. The choice is hard, but the poppy bagel wins for now.

"I thought you might like to go for a ride," Kirk says nonchalantly as he puts butter on a croissant.

"A ride?"

"On two wheels. I borrowed his bike. It's ours for the day."

Pike knows it's not really a good idea, but as none of his doctors are around to call him on his shit, he just starts to grin. They're really not that different, Kirk and him.

"Sounds like a really good idea. Best I've heard in a while."

"Best since last night." Kirk twinkles.

"Looks as if it just keeps getting better," Pike says, and toasts with his coffee.

*

An hour later they're down on the street, ready for the ride. Kirk's wearing a leather jacket that looks much too good on him, ending just above the ass that looks great in the tight jeans. Pike's wearing a weather-resistant jacket and pants, and it's less sexy than practical. He gets cold easily at the moment, and he wants to enjoy the trip. They don't have helmets but traffic shouldn't be a big problem on a Sunday morning.

"You wanna drive?" Kirk asks, and it's tempting, but Pike shakes his head. "Not right now. Maybe when we're out of the city." It's been ages since his last ride, and he's not sure if his arm muscles can manage a longer trip. He gives the crutches to Kirk and sits onto the back seat. Seconds later, they're on the road.

Kirk goes slightly above the speed limit but not as much as Pike would've had assumed. It's clearly a leisure trip, and Kirk's choosing a scenic route that goes through old-fashioned villages, far away from the highways.

Pike's sitting close behind him, his arms around the driver and his damn leather jacket. He's half-hard and sometimes, when they bump over some rough underground, his dick nudges against Kirk's crack that's protected by the seams of the jeans. He thinks about letting his hands sink down onto Kirk's groin, but doesn't want to cause an accident. They can always have fun later.

They've driven for maybe an hour when Kirk's pulling the machine aside and stops on a parking place. "You want to drive now?" he asks and looks at him, and Pike still thinks it's not a good idea, but damn, he really wants to ride the bike. He moves forward to the driver's seat and Kirk gives him a quick intro into the machine. It's solely controlled by hand, no feet necessary.

"I just won't be able to keep it upright when we stop," Pike says.

"I'm right behind you," Kirk replies. "Won't be a problem."

The machine comes alive under his fingers, and once they're on the road, Pike feels as if he's coming alive with it too. He hasn't felt so carefree and happy in a while, even since before the Narada incident. He makes a note to do that more often (with or without Kirk), and increases the speed. He steers along a sloop road into a hilly area, enjoying the vibrations of the engine between his legs, and Kirk's body nudging against his back. The younger man's arms are laced around his chest, holding him in a loose embrace. His whole body feels alive, and his erection keeps hardening, massaged from the machine's vibrations.

Of course, it's too perfect to stay like that for long. He manages to drive the bike around two corners into a sheltered spot behind a barn and some trees, before he stops, braking too hard as the pain rolls through the length of his legs like a wave only to find a focus in his tailbone, one knot of hurt.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," he mutters, glad that Kirk's reflexes are good enough to keep the bike upright, then curls forward with a groan. "Muscle cramps," he presses out and clamps his hands around his upper thighs next to his knees. Naturally, he's forgotten the hypo back in his apartment. The cramps are obscenely brutal, as if to punish him for having had a good time for more than twelve hours. He softly whines as the pain keeps traveling up and down his legs, settings his nerves on fire. He shifts and leans forward to stretch his legs left and right of the bike in the useless hope it would bring relief, his hands tightening around the tank in front of him.

"Anything I can do?" Kirk asks from behind him.

"No. It'll pass," Pike mutters. He just doesn't know when. The longest cramps had taken more than two hours to subside, and he'd have gladly taken a full anesthesia instead of living through them.

Kirk's hands are on his legs now, gently massaging, but it's the wrong spot, somehow.

"Better go for the lower back," Pike mutters, and Kirk's instantly withdrawing his hands. Seconds later, cool fingers slip under Pike's jacket and shirt, rubbing over tense skin.

"Yeah."

The hands slip into his pants, left and right, fingers digging into his flesh, going for the nerve points. It's painful but less painful than the tremors in his legs that now focus on his upper thighs, sending torturous signals towards his spine.

The fingers move to the front to open his pants and then shift them down to get the material out of the way. The hands dance over the hipbones, then return into the middle to the tailbone. The movement is regular, soothing, and hot. It's a great distraction.

He's breathing harshly, still fighting for control. Next to his right ear, Kirk's breathing is regular, just a bit quicker than normal. The pain ebbs slowly, too slow for his taste, but the touches on his back are a good counteragent. The pants have fallen down over his ass, he's lost some weight after the disaster, and the hands massage his cheeks, pulling the skin, teasing with a promise. Loosening his grip on the machine, he leans back and reaches around with his right hand, stroking Kirk's leg that's almost out of reach, keeping the machine in balance.

The hands slip around him, one caressing his chest, one drifting down towards his open fly. Cool fingers cradle his faltered erection, bringing it back to life. His legs still hurt but it's manageable and he's got much better things to do than to think of these damn cramps. He thinks of sex instead, of the way he'd felt alive last night, enjoys the hard-on that nudges against his ass now.

"Fuck me," he rasps.

"Here or on the ground?" is all Kirk asks.

"Here," Pike replies. He's too exhausted to move, and too fucking fearful of new cramps. He bends forward on the bike, stretching out over the tank.

Kirk draws closer, pulling them together with his hands on Pike's hips. His erection slips between Pike's crack without real intent. It's teasing and hot, and Pike's shifting his ass against the hard-on.

"Come on," he mutters, his temple resting on one bent arm. When he briefly opens his eyes, he sees the wall of the wooden barn. Better keep them close, he decides. They don't have lube and Kirk's fingers are barely wet when they're nudged into his ass, one, two. He tries pressing against them but he'd need leverage for that and his legs are rather useless pieces of flesh at the moment. The fingers fuck him, gently, and he doesn't want to go slow, not when he's high on endorphins for maybe another ten minutes before he'll just break down, he knows the routine.

"Fuck. Me. Dammit, Jim," he gasps, and instantly regrets that he's passed the point of first names and all that's hiding behind it, the change in their relationship.

"Yes, sir," Kirk says behind him, smoothly and without the slightest irony. The fingers get pulled out and something else pushes into him, a bit rough and just right, just fucking right. Hands curl around his shoulders and he's held tightly. With every shove, he's pressed into the cover of the machine and his erection's rubbing the inside of his pants, and he groans because it's so good.

Kirk's coming quicker than he'd have thought, and pumps into him in harsh spurts. Then he pulls out, and Pike's far too gone to care that Kirk's lifting him from the machine down on the ground and putting his hot mouth over his erection. He wants to buck against the lips that run down his dick but again, there's no energy left in his lower body, all muscles dead, the only part still working being his pulsing erection. Even his grip in Kirk's hair is weak, more a nudge than anything else, and he sobs as he's coming, the tension of the last quarter of an hour erupting in an orgasm that makes his head spin. He sags back, his hands falling to the ground. He can hear Kirk swallowing.

"Everything okay?" Kirk asks next to his left ear, and Pike has a hard time to answer. "Yeah," he whispers at last.

"You up for the ride back?"

"Give me a few minutes," Pike says, adding "Goddamn, you've worn me out" with a small laugh. It's a nicer explanation than the reality, that a slug had gotten off in his brain stem and turned most of his muscle mass into useless junk that's cramping on him in very inconvenient moments.

Kirk lies down next to him, placing one hand on his chest. Their legs rub together, and then Kirk kisses him on the lips, his tongue probing. That's far beyond the first name point but Pike just goes with it, deepening the kiss between them.

They stay on the ground for another ten minutes before Kirk helps him up and holds him while he's putting himself and his clothes together again. He's swaying – he's really done, fuck, all he wants is his bed and to sleep as long as possible, but first they've got to get back. He sits behind Kirk, his arms tightly laced around him because that's the only thing that holds him on the bike right now. Kirk's taking the shortest possible route and they're at Pike's home quicker than expected, and still long after Pike's point of breakdown. He's barely aware that Kirk's getting him into the house.

The next morning, he wakes up in bed, undressed, to an empty apartment. There's a note in sloppy handwriting on his nightstand, with the simple words, "Thanks for your time. Maybe a repeat soon? JTK."

Why not, Pike thinks. Though not before he's able to fucking spend more than five hours out of bed without having a major breakdown.

He hates being helpless, but he thinks Jim Kirk made a fantastic job of getting his mind off his current disability.

The boy will make a great captain, he's sure, and he's damn proud of himself for having had the genius idea to walk into that run-down bar in Iowa that evening.


End file.
